


Exit Wounds

by Shadow_Side



Series: Seventy-C [1]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 19:16:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4274892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Side/pseuds/Shadow_Side
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos is gone, and the Otherworld Desert has never felt more empty. [Tag for 70A – <i>Taking Off</i>.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exit Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> So here we go, a tag for Episode 70A, a.k.a. graphic proof that you should be very, very careful what you wish for, because sometimes you _get_ it, and it goes _exactly_ the way you knew it had to. (And no, before anyone asks, I still haven't recovered!)
> 
> The title is from the song of the same name, _Exit Wounds_ , by The Script, which the poor muse and I agreed on as a compromise because I flat-out refused to call this fic _Total Eclipse of the Heart_.

Kevin sits on the steps outside his radio station, in the Otherworld Desert, and watches the sun rise.

He's been here all night; ever since his inaugural broadcast ended and… and he read that letter. Ever since Carlos _left_.

The air is already starting to heat up, heralding the beginning of another day, but Kevin still feels cold. His mind is racing, though none of the thoughts are actualising because he won't let them. Because it's easier if he just doesn't engage. Easier if he simply sits here, alone and quiet, watching the once-dark sky blend gradually to hazy orange and purple.

This is completely ridiculous. He's been here for hours – _hours_ – and he hasn't been happy for a single one of the minutes contained within all those hours. Although maybe that's because time doesn't actually exist, here especially. Carlos is always saying that…

…No. No. Don't think about him. Don't. He's gone. He's gone and he's not coming back.

Kevin drops his head forward onto his knees, closing his eyes. He is not going to cry. He is not. Crying is a key symptom of sadness, and every moment spent in sadness is a moment _not_ spent in happiness.

And happiness is everything. Happiness is productivity and efficiency made manifest. Good Strexcorp employees are _always_ happy.

…Except when they aren't. When the truth pushes through. When the flickers of lucidity hit. When they can, for a fleeting instant, see the world as it actually is…

No. No. No more bad thoughts. Only good thoughts. Good, happy thoughts.

But… Strexcorp is gone. Or, it is gone in the form Kevin has always known it. That's what Carlos told him, at least, and Carlos heard it from Cecil, and Cecil… well. Cecil wouldn't make something like that up.

A world without Strexcorp had been a very difficult thing to fathom, in the beginning, and it's taken Kevin months to get to this point. Yet he _has_ got to this point, and… that has to be a good thing, right?

…He did it for him. For Carlos. And now, Carlos is gone.

Kevin looks up, staring at the rising sun until it hurts his eyes. He is not crying. He is not. He is _happy_. He is _fine_.

There are footsteps off to the side, which make Kevin jump a little, and he turns his head to see a tall, familiar figure pacing over. It's Doug, leader of the army of masked warriors, and he looks like he's had a rough night too.

For a moment, Kevin considers asking the other man to leave him be – before they end up in anything resembling conversation – but he's simply too _down_ to even make the effort.

Oh, this is pathetic. It's a good thing no one from back home will ever know about it.

"Doug," he says, in the brightest tone he can manage, trying desperately to sound like he's completely fine. On account of how he is. Completely. Completely fine.

"Kevin," the masked warrior replies, gruffly.

"How are things? I heard your people went to war again."

Doug drops his head, and then sinks down onto the step close by, looking thoroughly dejected. "We did. It did not go well."

"I know," Kevin tells him, softly. "How's Alisha doing?"

"Resting comfortably, along with many of the others. It will be days before we're back at full strength."

"I know the feeling," Kevin replies, before he can stop himself.

Doug looks sideways at him. "Were you injured too? It's hard to tell, given your fondness for… you know. All the blood."

Kevin doesn't even have the strength to argue. "I know. And no, I wasn't injured. Well. Not physically, at least."

"Ah." It's a single syllable that speaks a thousand words, but mercifully not out loud.

They sit in silence for a moment. It is not an enjoyable silence, but perhaps it is still better than the alternative.

"Carlos left," Doug says, finally. He sounds a little down about it too, though not in the same way. "He came to say goodbye. He said…"

"…I know what he said," Kevin cuts in, just a teeny bit shortly. "He said he needed to make changes. Said… he had to be where he belonged."

He said he didn't belong here.

"Yes," Doug replies, and then says nothing else.

The silence returns. Kevin does not like silence. Silence exists to be filled with happiness and productivity and joy. So what are you supposed to do when there aren't any of those things?

"You are sad he is gone," Doug says, eventually. "You were – you _are_ – very fond of him."

Kevin doesn't answer. 'Fond of' is not the term he would use. 'Fond of' is how you talk about a friend. Someone you go bowling with, or occasionally meet for coffee, or text after this week's episode of _Game of Thrones_ to see if they've stopped the alarmed squeaking yet.

Kevin is not 'fond' of Carlos. He is in love with him. He drops his head down onto his knees and hopes that Doug will take the hint and go away, without Kevin having to actually say anything.

It doesn't work. "Why did you let him leave?" Doug asks.

Kevin looks up, trying to keep the sharpness out of his eyes, because – no matter how bad you feel – upsetting one of the masked warriors could be a terminally bad idea. They are very large, after all, and very _fond_ of fighting.

"What was I supposed to do?" Kevin retorts, speaking without thinking. "Crack him about the head, chain him to the wall, and thoroughly seduce him until he realised that one double is as good as another?"

He realises what he's said, blushes furiously, and drops his head back onto his knees. This is perhaps a mercy, because it means he doesn't see Doug's expression at the words.

"No," Doug replies, remarkably carefully. "But you could have told him the truth."

Head back up, Kevin glares. "The truth? Carlos only has eyes for Cecil. I knew that even _before_ his boyfriend found a way to get here. And… and I guess you can see why. I mean… when he was here… I kept my distance, yes, but… I saw them together. Saw how they were, how they _are_ , with each other, and I… how could you want to interfere with that? They just… they just looked so perfect together. So… _happy_. And… Carlos would get that flicker in his eyes, and he'd sit and talk about the stars, and Cecil would curl up next to him with his head on Carlos' shoulder, and… and sometimes he'd do that thing where he traces down the back of Carlos' neck over and over, and…"

"…Kevin," Doug interjects, "which one of them are you pining after, exactly?"

Kevin goes even pinker and pointedly turns away, so there's no chance of Doug being able to meet his eyes. Because… because he's just pining after Carlos. That's all. Not…

"…Can I ask you something?" Kevin says, suddenly, without looking back.

Doug rumbles his approval.

"You're a warrior, and… I'm guessing you have been all your life?"

"Yes," Doug answers. "Since I was much smaller than I am now."

"Have you ever thought about doing something different?"

There's silence for a moment; enough to make Kevin turn back to find Doug looking contemplative.

"Not before now, no," the masked warrior replies. "And, having finally thought about it, I have decided to remain as I am. I like things this way."

"I see," Kevin says. "But… suppose you didn't have a choice. Suppose you _had_ to do something else, because… because masked-warrioring ceased to exist or… I don't know, hypothetically-speaking, was taken over by angels. What then?"

Doug gives this some additional thought. "I would have to adapt," he says. "I would not like it, but… I would have to do it."

"I thought as much," Kevin replies, softly.

"But," Doug goes on, "if there was a third option, even if it was a difficult one, I would pursue it. I am the master of my own destiny. Well… no, _Alisha_ is the master of my destiny. But after Alisha, then me."

"Oh," Kevin manages, even more softly.

"Kevin," Doug now says, "your problem is not that Carlos left. Your problem is that you didn't go after him."

"It is not. I could go after him any time I wanted. I could go right now."

"Yes, you could." The masked warrior gives him a pointed look. "You could go after them _both_ right now."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Kevin demands, knowing full-well _precisely_ what it means.

"It means that you were down after Cecil left, too," Doug reminds him. "Not to the same extent, because Carlos was still here, and because you knew Carlos would surely ask Cecil to move here, but you were."

"I was not."

"Kevin. You were."

He's right, of course, though it nigh-on kills Kevin to think it. When he'd found out Cecil was coming here, he'd been so hopeful that they might… that somehow they could… reconcile? Undo the lingering effects of all that unpleasantness last year? That they could…

…But they couldn't. Or… no. Not 'couldn't'. _Hadn't_.

"I'm not a scholar," Doug says. "I'm not a man of smart words or complicated insights or anything like that. But I am a warrior, and I know fighting. And, let me tell you, Kevin, in life you have two choices: you fight for what you want, or you lie down in the sand and give in."

Kevin stares at the rising sun. What _does_ he want?

…He wants them. He wants _both_ of them. For a few glorious days, he'd believed the three of them were going to live in this desert forever, with the masked warriors to build all Carlos' bright ideas, and the new radio station to allow Cecil to keep doing what he loves.

For a few glorious days, everything really, truly had been fine. _Finally_.

And now it's all gone.

"I want them both," he whispers, very softly.

Doug stares at the sun too. "Well, then," he says, "you can fight for what you want, or you can lie down in the sand and give in."

There is another long, heavy silence, and then Doug rises slowly – and a little painfully – to his feet. "I should go check on Alisha and the others. Will you be here when I get back?"

"…No," Kevin answers. "No. I might not be."

"I see. Then I wish you luck."

And, with one last nod, Doug turns and paces off, leaving Kevin alone once more.

Can he do this? Is he actually contemplating leaving the Otherworld Desert – where he's been very safe and surprisingly happy – to go to _Night Vale_ , in the vague hope that maybe Cecil and Carlos will be something other than horrified to see him?

…Yes. Yes, he is. Because he needs to be happy. He needs them. And he can either fight for what he wants, or lie down in the sand and be sad forever.

And he is a son of Desert Bluffs. A survivor of Strexcorp. He didn't get this far to let happiness slip his grip.

The sun shines down on the Otherworld Desert, purple and orange sky blending to blue, as the day takes over. As the future opens up like a flower, full of hope and possibility.

There's a long road in front of him, literally and metaphorically, and precisely where it leads… Kevin doesn't know. What lies in the future, lies in the future, and for now there is just this: a road, a destination, a goal, and a radiant sun overhead.

Everything is not fine. Not now. Not yet.

But perhaps, in the end, it will be.


End file.
